During Death
by She Who Shines
Summary: ...Teatime's adventures in the After Life.
1. Midnight Garden

**Author's Notes: I was stuck on my other fanfictions, no one was posting on a roleplaying forum, and I had the strongest urge to write about Teatime. This is the result. Please review!  
**

**Look out, Afterlife - HERE HE COMES!  
**

DURING DEATH

Teatime's Adventures in the Afterlife

Teatime could be miserable, or he could be curious.

It'd rather hurt, the poker had. She could have at _least_ used the toasting fork. It would have been _polite_. It hadn't been half as rusty. Of course, Susan wasn't particularly polite. _He, _on the other hand, prided himself with his excellent manners. It was rather silly that he should, technically, be the villain of this adventure whilst she should be the heroine with their respective positions on etiquette.

What it all came down to, though, was that Teatime could choose to be miserable, or curious.

Not that it wouldn't be simply _wonderful_ to lodge a particularly sharp knife between the ribs and in the heart of one particular Susan Sto-Helit. How _nice _it'd be to see the look of shock and pain shattering her ever-present scowl. Perhaps she'd even look _abject_. That would be _priceless_.

But he didn't have to be miserable. He could be _curious_.

It wasn't that he had any particular hatred for her. It's just that here she was, thinking she'd _won _the game, but she really, really _hadn't_. He could have killed her any number of times. There had been that first moment, when he'd taken her sword. Her body could have fallen then and there – no more Susan. But no, he'd only taken the Death's blade. Then there had been that moment outside the Locked Door He'd Never Gotten To Look Inside Of. He could have taken her life with a simple flick of his wrist, but he'd merely taken a shriek as he had pulled her hair back hard. And finally, in the kitchen of the Gaiters' house he could have killed her, but instead he had settled with prickling her nerves and unsettling her beyond imagining. He had been _enjoying _it all. It had been a bit of a _challenge_. He hadn't wanted it to _end_, and he had deluded himself into thinking that she hadn't either. So you can imagine Teatime's surprise when the poker had slid through his gut. Now, not only was the game _over, _but Susan thought she had won. He could kill her in three seconds flat (or less) if he wanted to. He really _could, _but Susan thought _she'd won._ And now he was dead, and there would be no more Artful Assassins' Guild, no more Interesting Inhumations, no more Stubborn Susans, and there was no more Denying Death.

Yes, Teatime had every right to be perfectly miserable. He probably could, too. But instead, wouldn't it be so much _nicer_ to make this an adventure? Wouldn't it be _interesting _to see what lay in the Great Beyond? Wouldn't it be simply wonderful to discover what happened after death? Ready, just for him. One couldn't even begin to _imagine _all the fun one could have in the Afterlife. Yes, this would be a new start to his New Life. Er, his New _Death_.

With that, Jonathan Teatime opened his eyes.

Yes, strangely enough, he still had eyes – one real, one black glass. He still had hands as well. He was still wearing clothing, and his knife was still within his cloak. Teatime cocked his head curiously. He was surrounded in blackness, and directly below his feet was some kind of hard, flat surface. It was impossible, however, to see where the hard, black surface began and the blackness ended. Here there was no horizon, no other types of color, and not even shades of gray – just empty black.

"I certainly hope there is more to Death than this," Teatime observed thoughtfully. "Because as I see it so far, it seems so _terribly _dull."

He didn't hear anyone behind him. He didn't see anyone before him, either. But he _felt _something _there. _Something, for certain. He could sense some kind of presence near him. What was annoying was that he couldn't tell if it was behind him, beside him, above him, or below him. It felt like all of them yet somehow was most definitely in _one _place. He pursed his lips in agitation.

"Who's there?" Teatime asked. "Please announce yourself. It's terribly rude to sneak around in the dark without making oneself known."

Certainly, the ex Assassin did a _lot _of sneaking around in the dark, but he _always _introduced himself.

There was a polite cough. Teatime whirled around, to see a man directly behind him. Or was he above him? It was hard to tell.

"Excuse me, Mr. Teh-ah-tim-eh," the man answered. He looked somewhere in his sixties, with a white beard and long green robes. "But I hadn't meant to sneak up on you."

Teatime cocked his head at the man to his right.

Or was it his left?

"You got it right."

"This is the afterlife, Mr. Teatime. Even in Stage One we've got to get everything right," the man explained.

"Stage One, sir?" Teatime inquired. "And why can't I place exactly where you are? It's quite disconcerting."

"Stage One of the Afterlife. You can't go from Life to Death quick as a wink, Mr. Teatime," the man in green replied. "Your soul just would short-circuit. Anyone's would. You have to take it slow, one _Stage _at a time. The first Stage is where you start to learn how to exist outside of your corporeal form. Your souls still think they're in a body and it takes them a while to get passed that thought, so they process everything around them as if they still were. That is why I appear a man, and there appears to be a floor underneath your feet. That is also why I appear to be in multiple places while remaining in one; your soul cannot place what it senses in the context of the Living World, so it does the best it can and leaves you to fill in the gaps."

"I… _see,_" Teatime mused thoughtfully. "Does everyone get such an explanation, sir?"

"Good heavens, no!" the man replied with an 'are you crazy?(1)' kind of laugh. "We have to spend so much time deciding whether or not people go to Heaven or Hell, picking out who goes when, sorting through people's lives and dreams, keeping the stages in order, creating personal paradises…" he laughed again. "We're swamped! No, now and then we send someone here – like me! – to go over everything with one individual. That one individual is then responsible for informing everyone else as to what is going on."

Teatime's eyes flashed in excitement as a boyish grin spread across his face.

"So no one here knows where they are, save me?" he asked.

"Well, there may be a few. But I think most of the people who understood what this place was have already Graduated to Stage Two."

"What is Stage Two?" the Assassin wondered.

"It's impossible to describe in Living Terms," the older man answered dismissively. "Once you get a hang of non-corporeal life and Graduate you'll understand. Do you have any questions? I'm probably going to be called away soon, and I won't be able to check back here for another hundred years – by which time I expect everyone here to know where they are," he added firmly.

Teatime grinned.

"Oh, no worries there, sir! Everyone will be so _very _well informed when you return."

The old man smiled, his face wrinkling with pleasure.

"It's so nice to have someone so polite for a change. You wouldn't _believe _some of the crazed lunatics I've had to deal with. But, back on track: do you have any questions? You've got to be able to answer everyone else's."

"Is it possible to… _die _here, sir? I'm assuming not, since I am quite dead already, but it never hurts to fully inform oneself on such things," Teatime enquired.

"No," the older man replied. "No, you don't die. It's impossible. However, if the individual in question still believes that they _can, _then if they were, let's say, _stabbed _they would go into Primordial Shock."

"Primordial Shock, sir?"

"Someone picked the name out because they thought it sounded cool," the other replied. "Basically, the physical form they think they are will shatter, and they will only be a consciousness for a good while. It would be quite similar to dreaming. Once they realize that they aren't dead they'll snap right back into shape."

"Can one _feel?_"

"In what way? Emotionally, or physically?"

"Physically."

"If one thinks they can, they will."

"How long does the average individual spend in the First Stage?"

The other man sighed sadly.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Teatime, but that's hard to say. It varies so greatly from person to person. Eight hundred years, maybe?" he guessed with a shrug. "Some people have made it in fifty, but those were generally those who had lived for a good hundred years or so and were just plain tired of a physical existence. Some have stayed in the first Stage for a few thousand. It all depends. Anything else?"

"I won't need to eat or sleep, will I, sir?"

"Again, if you think you do you will. This place is practically clay to be molded – it could be anything if you thought it was. A garden, a palace… et cetera. If you thought you were hungry, you would be, and you could find your own food."

"Would it be possible to starve to Primordial Shock if one thought one could?" Teatime asked, fascinated. This place was sounding more and more interesting. All he needed was a few guinea pigs(2) to play around with and who knew _what _kinds of havoc he could wreak. What glory!

The older man frowned.

"Perhaps. It would depend on the strength of the person's belief. But no matter; since you'll be explaining everything I doubt anyone will need to worry about all that." The man in green glanced around. "I really ought to be going, now. I hope I've explained everything clearly for you, Mr. Teatime."

"Oh, very much so, sir. I have a _very _good understanding of this place now." Teatime focused as best as he could, and watched in glee as white grass grew below his feet and an apple tree sprung up from the ground. Moonlight hit off the silvery-sheaned fruit and glinted on his black glass eye as he grinned eerily. "I think I'll enjoy my time in Stage One… _thoroughly_."

"Excellent, then. I'll be off!"

With that, the man snapped away.

Teatime grinned again, and with a flick of his wrist sent his knife flying. It pierced an apple with a satisfying _swish _and they both fell to the ground softly. He knelt down, lifted the fruit, and began to slowly fill in the horizon of his midnight garden.

Oh, this would be _fun._

(1)Yes.

(2)Meaning people.


	2. Victims One Through Three

**Author's Notes:**** I'm not exactly sure where this story is going, but I do know that Teatime isn't going to go unnoticed, so be prepared! If you have any suggestions for any kinds of mind-games Teatime might play with his unsuspecting victims (there will be five, all together) please review them! I could use the help ;-) (oh, and if you do, and I don't use your suggestion, that doesn't mean that it's not completely AWESOME, just that it doesn't fit with the vague idea I DO have for the direction of this fic) So review, and tell me what you think of my OCs and the story in general!**

DURING DEATH

Teatime's Adventures in the After Life

Teatime was very good at believing. He really was. It was because of that fact that he had been able to come up with such a creative scheme for the inhumation of the Hogfather. Yes, indeed, it was a very strong talent of his, believing. He believed he could do anything, and he had an excellent control over his thoughts. It was for this reason that Stage One of the After Life suited him perfectly. He could bend the fabric of this unreality to his every whim and will, shape it and change it, and believe that it _was_.

He had been doing just that when he sensed it. A presence. No, _two _presenc_es_.

The Assassin glanced around his silvery-blue garden(1), with its rolling hill and rose bushes. All those lovely black-purple roses in the dim light, with their sharp, thick thorns. Then the briars, and vines with snags, and apple trees with hooked leaves, and the dagger-sharp _blades _of grass. He looked about his moonlit field of silver until he saw the pale, white lit mists. Two floating clouds catching the light and shifting softly like pools of shimmering silk threads. Teatime doubted that that was the true nature of the souls before him, but that was how it manifested in his mind and it worked, so there was no need to make sense of it.

Teatime stepped towards the mists, still finding it funny that he could _sense _them as much as see them, almost. Perhaps he couldn't actually _see; _perhaps he could only _sense, _but his soul was so used to seeing that it gave him sight. That made sense(2).

Yes, these two presences were most definitely souls. He could feel them before him, so in all likelihood they could feel him as well. He should be careful, then. Perhaps they were in Primordial Shock? They most certainly weren't physical at the moment. Or perhaps they were about to graduate to Stage Two. But then why hadn't they been there before? No, Teatime drew one conclusion: They'd just died.

He was about to introduce himself, then laughed at the pure silliness of speaking one's name to a cloud of mist. They were just _consciousness_, not quite physical forms yet. He should probably wait.

And then he heard it, floating on the now-existent breeze.

_Cold… dark… help, please… _it was a weak voice, a gentle one, like the last breath of a dying man.

_Wet… breathe… breathe… nothing… _another voice echoed, thrashing helplessly in the wind.

It was most unsettling, because Teatime didn't simply _hear _the words. He _felt _wet water, the panicky sensation of sinking down, down into the abyss. He felt the air draining out of him and the salty sea water gushing into his lungs.

Teatime frowned thoughtfully. So they had drowned. In order to make this work, he'd have to make them believe what they saw. What would they expect to see after drowning? Well, that would be hard to place. It would depend on their personal beliefs of death. Perhaps a better question would be what would they expect and/or hope to see _before _drowning. A rescue boat? Ah, that would be fun. But then again, perhaps he should save _that _for another time. Convincing dead people they were still alive might take a better understanding of this realm than he had yet to achieve. He needed practice first.

So he simply waited. It was rather dull, he realized, so Teatime started working on his knife throwing, using the apples for targets. When they proved to be too easy to hit, he started aiming for the roses far off in the distance. The best part was that he didn't even have to to go and retrieve his blade; no, it always showed up _exactly _where he'd left it, in the inside pocket of his long, black coat.

There was a distinct plop.

"Where the hell am I?" a rather confused, slightly crabby voice called out in surprise.

Teatime whirled around with a mischievous grin. There was a man, approximately twenty-five (give or take a few years), with black hair, and a rather befuddled expression painted on his face. He was sitting on the white grass, apparently having formed into a human shape while still floating listlessly.

"Hello," the Assassin said. "My name's Teatime. What's yours?"

The man wrinkled his nose.

"I'm Nate, but you're _Tea_time? As in four o'clock in the afternoon?"

Teatime took in a deep breathe in exasperation. Even dead people had to get it wrong. With both Death and the Man In Green having said it correctly, he'd had such _high _hopes about the afterlife, too.

"No, I did say – " the Assassin started.

"That really is a very funny name, Teatime."

Nate hadn't said it right.

"It's _pronounced –_ "

"Are you an actor of some kind? If so, I guess it kind of makes sense, since people won't forget it easily – "

Teatime sighed and 'practiced' tossing his knife into the man's heart, if only to shut him up. Nate glanced down at his chest in shock, then looked back up at the Assassin.

"What'd you do_ that _for?!" he called.

Teatime kneeled in front of him and grinned charmingly.

"Please remember this in the future, because we're going to be spending a _long _time together. It's _pronounced_, if your mind can comprehend something _other _than what it has been force fed throughout its life, _teh-ah-tim-eh_."

"But why'd you knife me?!"

Teatime closed his eyes and sighed softly as Nate disintegrated into several thousand specks of mist and drifted up into the night sky.

"Perhaps _you'll _get it right," Teatime mused in a cheerful, soft voice as he stood to his full height and turned around. He'd sensed this other person coming, but now he could see her stumbling through the rose bushes, looking quite confused.

"Excuse me," she called in a pleasant voice with a pretty smile. She then promptly tripped and cursed as she scratched her cheek against one of the thorns. She pulled herself up and smiled again. "Sorry. Those were some _nasty _thorns. I've never seen anything like them. But excuse me, sir. I'm Amarinthe, most call me Mara. I'm just looking for someone I know, and I was wondering if you might be able point me in the right direction."

Teatime grinned a dazzlingly brilliant and charming smile. Finally, someone with _manners_.

"That depends, madam," he replied with a small bow. He wasn't afraid that _this _particular girl would do something _dreadful_. No, he had a hunch that _she _wouldn't go about skewering him with pokers. "Who, precisely, are you looking for?"

Amarinthe shook her head thoughtfully.

"His name is Cree. He's tall, and scrawny, and has shaggy brown hair. Do you know where I am? The last thing I remember is someone trying to stab Cree, and I got in the way..." she trailed off in confusion.

"I'm afraid I'm as clueless as you are, Mara," the Assassin replied, tingeing his voice with traces of regret as he stepped forwards. "And no, I haven't seen your Cree."

"What is _your _last memory?" she asked curiously. "Perhaps if we combine our knowledge we could figure something out."

Teatime grinned. This girl would be _fun_ to be terrible to without her realizing it. Just _think_ of all the mind games he could play.

"I remember seeing a poker coming out of my chest," he answered cheerfully.

Mara furrowed her brow.

"A poker?" she asked in surprise. "How did _that _happen?"

"I messed with the wrong duchess."

"Talk about getting your heart broken," Mara said dryly with a raised brow.

"Actually, it was lower down," Teatime grinned back. "But I was _devastated._"

Her face cracked into a warm smile, and the Assassin took this moment to examine her. She was no older than nineteen, fraught with freckles, had violet eyes, and her hair wasn't quite down to her shoulders. It was hard to see its exact sheen with the lack of light, but appearances didn't really matter so he didn't give it much thought.

Her face grew thoughtful.

"So if you and I last remember having something that could be fatal happening to ourselves... is it possible that we're _dead?_" Amarinthe asked, her forehead wrinkling.

"Oh yes, I'd say it's _quite _possible," Teatime replied with an emphatic nod and eerie grin.

There was a distinctive plop, and both their heads snapped to the Assassin's left. A redheaded sailor looked around in confusion, before grinning at Mara.

"'Lo there, pretty lass," he said, standing to his feet and brushing off his white clothing. His eyes were locked rigidly on the girl before him. "You look mighty charming this lovely lit night. Might I ask where the sea 'as dropped me?"

Teatime grinned.

"What's your name?"

The sailor pursed his lips in agitation as he glanced at the Assassin.

"Rhett Ordan. Do you know where I've landed?" he asked, his voice slightly disgruntled and face a little grouchy to be interrupted. Teatime wouldn't know this, but Amarinthe was the first woman this particular sailor had seen in three years. He was intending to take _full _advantage of the situation(3).

"Welcome to Hell, Rhett!" Teatime called cheerfully.

Mara burst out laughing, while the sailor managed to look more confused.

"That guy knifed me!" a rather dejected voice called, and everyone whirled around to see Nate pointing an accusing finger at the Assassin. "He really did!"

Teatime grinned even more broadly. This was all going so _very _well.

(1)It was strange, how the blue, black, silver, and white garden, though eerily lovely, stirred much the same feeling as a graveyard, or that unsettling fluttering of fear one would feel when they looked into Teatime's mismatched eyes.

(2)Or at least fit with everything else he'd deduced so far.

(3)...and her.


	3. Victims Four Through Five

**Author's Notes:**** These next couple or few chapters are going to focus more on my OCs than I would like, but it's necessary for the story later to at least have an idea of what each of them are like. It still centers on Teatime, though, and it'll be completely back on him in a few chapters so DON'T WORRY. Don't forget to review! And tell me what you think of all these OCs! Oh, and thanks for the mind game suggestions; they were awesome. I could still use more, and if you have any ideas or requests for where this story could go I'd love to hear 'em.**

DURING DEATH

Teatime's Adventures in the After Life

"Who are you?" Mara asked curiously, furrowing her brow at the newcomer.

"Nate Burghog," he replied, crossing his arms. "He stabbed me!"

Teatime somehow appeared directly beside Nate, and spoke so softly only he could hear.

"Want me to do it again?" he whispered gently. Nate paled and shook his head. "Then shut up." Teatime grinned and turned to everyone else. "A simple misunderstanding, I assure you. Wasn't it, Nate?"

The man gulped and nodded.

"Let's go over this, shan't we?" the sailor called. "We've got ourselves a Burghog and an Ordan, but we've yet to learn the true identity of the Maiden Fair. Or the other guy."

Teatime frowned. He didn't like being the 'other guy'. But he supposed that could be fixed later.

Mara blushed profusely in the dim light at Rhett's comment.

"I'm Amarinthe, or Mara," she replied.

The sailor took her hand and kissed it.

"A pleasure, Mademoiselle." He stood straight, and glanced up and down Teatime condescendingly. "Who're you?"

"My name's Teatime," the Assassin replied with a bright grin.

"Teatime..." Mara said, trying it on her tongue. "It sounds like something out of a really good mystery novel. It's a pleasure to meet you, good sir."

The girl extended a hand and shook his, before doing a similar thing with the others. Teatime decided that Nate must have been a fluke. The afterlife folk really _did _get his name right.

"Mara!" called another voice. Heads flew, and a scrawny man with shaggy brown hair came into view. "Where on the disc are we?"

Rhett groaned.

"I'll be damned if there need be more introductions!" he howled.

"Everyone, this is Cree," Amarinthe said simply. "Cree, that's Rhett Ordan, that's Nate Burghog, and this is Teatime."

Teatime grinned, and Cree flinched. The Assassin's was anything but a _reassuring _facial expression.

"Um, glad to meet you," he managed hesitatingly before turning to Mara. "Are you all right? Do you know where we are?"

"I don't know, Cree," she answered. "I think we're dead. Remember that guy, who tried to stab you – ?"

"Mara, what had you been doing there, anyhow? I'd told you to _go_," Cree demanded, almost angrily.

She pursed her lips in agitation.

"I couldn't very well leave you _alone!_"

"But now we're _both _dead!"

Suddenly, they're heads instinctively turned to see Teatime watching them intently with his arms crossed and a rather amused expression plastered to his face.

"What is it? I'm only watching," he asked, sounding terribly innocent and slightly confused. "Oh dear, you don't want me to, do you?" Teatime shook his head sadly. "You're so much more interesting than those two, though. They're talking about the best seamstresses."

"Who finds _that _an interesting topic? _Ew!_" Mara called in disgust, wrinkling her nose.

Cree coughed nervously. Amarinthe noticed, and her head snapped accusingly towards him with narrowed eyes. Teatime actually laughed, and she glared at him. It wasn't a glare with half the power of Susan's, he noted.

"I _do _apologize. But I so _hate _listening to such..." he trailed off, "...shall we say such _indiscriminate_ topics, and if I didn't watch the both of you I'd merely be wondering this dark garden."

Someone cursed loudly.

"The damn grass cut me! It _did!_" Nate called angrily.

Teatime smirked.

_Good grass, _he thought. And then, an idea hit him.

Teatime stood as Mara walked over to Nate and started to examine his cut while chewing her lip. The sailor glared at the other man jealously.

"What are you talking about, Nate?" she said, shaking her head and laughing. "It's like a paper cut."

"It _feels _like someone rubbed _salt_ into it," he grumbled in reply.

Suddenly, the grass started growing around them, lifting and twisting into some kind of tight-knit dome. The individual blades wound together, in and out of each other to form some kind of mesh. Mara called out in shock and beat at the blades furiously.

"_Let me out!_" she screeched, practically hyperventilating. She turned to Nate and started pounding him with clenched fists. "_Get me out!_"

Nate cringed under her onslaught as Cree ran up to the net and pressed his hands against it.

"Breathe, Mara, breathe! Close your eyes, right now!" he called desperately.

"I'm trapped!" she sobbed.

"_Close your eyes,_" he insisted. She did, still crying, and curled up with her face in her knees. Her breathing was so heavy all could hear it quite clearly.

"Might I inquire as to why she's so... _affected?_" Teatime wondered curiously, stepping up beside Cree.

"She's claustrophobic," he explained.

"Ah," the sailor agreed with a nod, before kneeling before the net. "We'll get you out of there, pretty thing," he said as reassuringly as he could.

Mara ignored him.

"I'm Mara-phobic!" Nate called, nursing his bruised body.

"Sorry," she mumbled. "Just don't make me look."

Teatime cocked his head.

"I do have a knife," he said simply. "But this grass doesn't seem normal. I doubt my humble blade will do anything."

Everyone glanced around nervously, and the Assassin allowed himself the smallest smirk of satisfaction. Now they doubted that they could cut through the grass, and all their combined belief wouldn't counter his.

"Why don't you damn well _try?_" Nate yelled angrily. "I don't want to be stuck in all this claustra at all, let alone with Miss Phobic."

"Sorry," she sniffed.

"Hey, don't you _dare _talk about Mara that way!" Cree called aggressively, stepping forwards in anger.

"I_ talk _how I like," Nate replied indignantly, standing to his feet as best he could inside the grass dome. It wasn't quite big enough for his bulky form.

"I may be mistaken," Teatime observed, "but Nate, I truly believe that you should work on your people skills."

"Teatime there has a point," the sailor said, rubbing his stubbly chin as the Assassin flinched. He'd gotten it _wrong._ "You're not too pleasant company."

"Yeah? Well, _you're _not all butter and honey yourselves," Nate bit back.

"And _you're _beginning to get on my nerves," Cree growled.

Teatime nearly danced with glee. Conflict! Tears! Every man for himself! Danger! Mystery! Drama! _Fun!_

"Excuse me, dearies?" a new voice called. "Excuse me, but what's all this none-too-pleasant shouting? It's hard on my poor old ears."

They whirled around to see a sweet looking lady somewhere in her late eighties or early nineties with a cane none-too-far off in the distance. There was an apprehensive glance around, and Teatime tossed Cree his knife.

"Why don't you try to help poor dear Amarinthe?" he said with a grin. "I'll take care of the little old lady." Cree nodded in confirmation, and the Assassin held back a laugh as he started to zip onwards. He paused though, glancing over his shoulder. "I wouldn't mind if you left Nate in there, though."

That got him a grin from Cree and Rhett both, and Teatime found himself thinking how _nice _was to have someone actually smile at him. What other things could he make them do and think? Oh, he could worry about that later. He had little old ladies to torment now.


	4. Observation

**Author's Notes: Alright, y'all, here's the next bit. It's my longest chapter yet, and I had TONS of fun writing it. Again, if you have any ideas for where you want this story to go TELL ME! I WANT to know what you WANT to hear. Why? Honestly, I'm still trying to figure it out, haha. Probably has something to do with the fact that I have a serious case of writers block (I've pre-written a couple more chapters, but I'm STUCK). Anyhow, review, enjoy, and read. **

DURING DEATH

Teatime's Adventures in the After Life

So it had begun; here were the people Teatime would be spending quite some time with. As long they didn't quite know what he knew he could do practically whatever he pleased, and it would such an _interesting _game. But the game would wait, for now. For _now, _he would start learning the rules of the players – learning who they were, what they feared... _observing, _if you will. Piecing the bits together until he had a firm picture he could use, a manual he could refer to, clear and up front in his mind. With that, the fun could _really _begin. But until then, he would merely watch – for the most part.

The little old lady had white hair up in a high bun. She had hunched shoulders, and a baby-blue dress with white polka dots. Her cane was light wood, and she was wearing gardenia perfume. She squinted up at Teatime.

"Where are the angels, laddie?" she asked.

Teatime blinked, then grinned.

"What?" he asked.

"Death came for me quite recently. I expected there to be angels on the other side. Of course, I hadn't quite pictured such a dark and dreary garden for heaven, but at least it's somewhat ethereal and I can deal with that so long as there are angels," she replied.

Teatime opened his arms lightly.

"I'm an angel(1)!" the Assassin chimed cheerfully. Why not?

The little old lady squinted.

"You're not quite right," she answered.

"Don't I look like an angel?" Teatime pouted.

"Well, you've got a pretty enough face, mind you," the old lady answered, "and those yellow curls of yourn. But I don't recall there being anything about a black glass eye or black attire in the books, you're a good deal older and skinnier than you should be, and you're missing your wings."

Teatime shook his head.

"I see where your problem lies, madam," he replied. "You are referring to the _traditional cherub_. I, however, am a modern day angel. The wings were swapped for a much more contemporary _black eye, _and the color black was adopted due to the rise of popularity for said shade in recent years."

The old lady sighed, shaking her head.

"Kids these days! They've no respect for the classic things and have to go and mess it all up for their elders."

"I'm terribly sorry for any and all inconveniences, madam, and am _very _sorry to disappoint you."

"Ah, at least you're polite and all," she said with a sigh. "You have a name, or are you just 'angel'?"

Teatime grinned, glad to have this familiar ground.

"My name's Teatime; what's yours?" he asked.

"Esther," she replied, reaching out a firm, wrinkly hand to shake his. "I'd really thought I wouldn't have to worry about my aching back here..." she sighed.

"Oh, only if you think you do," the Assassin replied as he started walking towards the others. "If you want, you could be you when you were twenty-three. You only need to believe it."

"Really?" she said thoughtfully. "I'll have to try that."

"Oh, and Esther?" Teatime asked.

"Yes?" she answered, glancing up at him as she hobbled along.

"Please don't mention what I am to everyone else. They aren't quite..." he paused, "_ready._"

Esther winked.

"No worries there, deary. You're secret's safe with me."

Teatime smiled eerily.

"I'm much obliged. Thank you."

They returned to find Teatime's knife on the ground with some muddy shoe prints on it(2), Cree kneeling beside the dome and attempting to calm a very distraught Mara, and Nate and Rhett as close to duking it out as they could get when separated by an impenetrable net of grass. Teatime noted how hysterical the young girl was, knowing that it might be useful to remember her claustrophobia later. More interesting, however, was how attentive Cree was towards her. Didn't she say something about getting in the way of someone trying (and later succeeding) to kill him earlier? Hmm. So they were very close. He should keep that in mind; it might be fun to see just _how close _they were, and _how well _they stayed that way.

"SHUT IT!" Esther called.

Mara glanced up in surprise from her sobs. Nate's head lulled over in exasperation as he turned the voice's way. Cree appeared confused as he looked away from Amarinthe. Rhett had been hopeful, as the voice had been feminine, but seemed crushed to see that the potentially hot woman was about sixty years old(3). Teatime held back a laugh at all of them.

"Name," Esther demanded sharply of the sailor. He opened his mouth and started to stammer. "_Respect your elders, laddie! _NAME!"

"Rhett," he managed.

"You!" she called, pointing at the man on his knees before the dome.

"Er, Cree – "

"You!"

"Um, Nathaniel T. Burghog, Miss."

Everyone (save the little old lady) did a double-take at Nate's surprisingly polite tone.

Esther gave a sharp nod.

"All ye Rhetts and Nathaniels and Crees, step back and be bloody quiet!"

Everyone obliged, Nate pressing himself as far back against the grass dome wall as he could. So the seemingly rebellious and unstoppably _rude _Mr. Burghog listened to strong commands, at least from elderly folk. That could be useful information as well.

The little old lady knelt down before Mara and smiled sweetly.

"You all right, there, dear?" she asked. "What's you're name, lovely?"

"Amarinthe," she managed.

"Well, I'm Esther, dear. How long have you been trapped there?"

"I've been trapped, too, Miss – " Nate started.

"SHUT IT!"' the little old lady yelled.

He closed his mouth. Very tightly.

"Not very long. I just have a problem with... with..." she closed her eyes and shivered.

"She's claustrophobic," Cree finished.

"Just hang in there, deary," Esther Sue stood and glared around. "So, tell me now, why haven't you all cut her loose yet?"

"I'm afraid this grass is terribly unbreakable," Teatime explained, arms folded. He was rather amused.

"How'd you know?" Cree asked, standing to his feet and narrowing his eyes suspiciously.

Ah, so this man wasn't as trusting as the girl he so cared for. Interesting. Teatime raised a brow.

"Considering my knife is on the ground with several shoe prints, and that poor Mara is still trapped – "

"I am _too_," Nate grumbled.

" – , I must deduce that you were unable to cut it. Of course, that is assuming you know the mechanics of slicing with a dagger. Generally, you hold the hilt and slide of the edge of blade against that you wish severed."

"The roses," Mara said, as if she had become magically enlightened. Everyone turned to her in surprise. She glanced back and forth before taking in a deep breath to calm her racing heart and assure herself that she wasn't going to suffocate. "Those roses have thorns like no other. Maybe, as they are of the same realm as this grass, they could cut it where Teatime's knife, coming from the Land of the Living, had failed."

Teatime grinned. She'd gotten his name right, _and _put forth something that had to take some degree of intelligence to come up with. He was liking how this girl thought.

"What a... _creative _notion," he said.

"Excuse me," Nate scoffed, "but I have a hard time believing that a _thorn _could do better than a _dagger_."

"I hate to admit it," Rhett commented, rubbing his chin, "but Nate _does _have a point, there."

"But it's so _inventive _and _novel!_" Teatime protested. "Cutting her free with the thorns that cut her..."

Mara placed a finger on her bloody cheek in remembrance.

Teatime cheerfully pulled out his knife from his coat pocket (Cree would blink thoughtfully, wondering _how _it'd _gotten _there) and marched off to one of the rose bushes while Nate and Rhett started arguing again and Esther whipped them into shape. The Assassin grabbed the dark head of one of the flowers and sliced it from deep down in the stem. He walked leisurely back to the dome and used it like a saw against the grass blades. When at last there was a hole large enough to allow the others out, Mara sighed in relief.

"Thanks, Teatime," she said with a grateful smile as she stood. He returned it with an eerie grin. Amarinthe was just about to exit, when Nate shoved passed her and pushed out.

"Outta my way, _Tea_time," he grumbled as he stalked off a few feet towards the apple tree.

Teatime raised a brow.

_I _did _go over it with you, Nathaniel, _he thought, shaking his head.

"I thought it was teh-ah-tim-eh?" Mara asked as she pulled her way out through the hole in the net. Her tense shoulders relaxed as she stepped into the open night.

"It is, but it seems Mr. Burghog either cannot comprehend that, or simply doesn't like me," Teatime flashed a dazzling grin. "I can't imagine why."

"?$*&!!!" Nate cursed loudly as another grass net enveloped him. Teatime smirked in satisfaction and Amarinthe raised a brow.

"Clean out your mouth, boy!" Esther yelled grouchily.

"Talk about poetic justice," the young girl commented wryly.

"Should I free him?" Teatime mused. "What do you think, Amarinthe? Or should we let him... _stew?_"

Her freckly face smiled warmly.

"I'm half tempted! Unfortunately, it's awfully terrible in one of those things, so we should probably let him go. I wish I knew exactly _what _was going on, though," she answered. "Why _that _keeps _happening_."

Ah, so Mara was a compassionate soul who took little pleasure in the suffering of others – even those who deserved it. He was slightly disappointed (fellow sadists were so hard to find), but no matter. It'd be easier to mess with her this way.

"For you, then," the Assassin replied with a small bow. He grasped another rose and snipped it from the bush in a mere blur. "Perhaps we all should learn more about one another," Teatime said more loudly to everyone. "I'll start: I'm from Ankh Morpork, my name's Teatime, I'm an Assassin – "

"_Figures,_" Nate grumbled. He was ignored.

" – I died by poker, and I like challenges, puzzles, and hot cocoa."

"By poker?" the sailor asked.

"He messed with the wrong duchess," Mara put in. Teatime grinned at her comment as he started sawing at Nate's net(4).

"You're an Assassin?!" Cree called.

So the comment had taken a while to sink in. Cree needed time to adjust to a fact before he could react, it seems, and paid little mind as to what happened during said adjusting.

"I did say so," Teatime confirmed. "Do you have a particular issue with that fact?"

"Let's just say I've had bad experiences with them."

"So _your _turn, Mara," the Assassin said, not bothering to turn from his slicing. "Tell us more about... _you_."

"I'm from a tiny village called Yston between Uberwald and Lancre and most know me as Mara," she obliged, sitting down and leaning against the apple tree's trunk. "I'm a preschool teacher, I died by getting in the way of an Assassination, and I like baking, singing, and reading romance novels."

"Romance novels, love?" the sailor inquired. "'Ave you e'er tried those by Bellastrayne Bay?"

"A little raunchy for my tastes," Mara replied with a wrinkled nose.

"That's why I like 'em," Rhett mumbled under his breath.

What more could be said about the sailor? He obviously was very sexually deprived. Why exactly any of that _mattered _Teatime doubted he'd ever know, but it seemed to have a profound affect on some people. Like Rhett.

"Would you care to go next, Mr. Ordan?" Teatime asked.

"Well, I hale from the deep blue sea, I'm called Rhett, I'm a sailor, I drowned, and I like salty sea air, dancin' most 'eartily, and pretty lasses," he winked at Mara, who blushed.

"Yes, she's a very 'pretty lass,'" Cree glared. "A pretty lass you aren't getting within a five foot radius of."

"_Cree, _no need to be so protective," Mara replied; her voice was playful, but slight traces of annoyance were apparent to he who looked deeply. "He's only being polite."

"I _doubt _that his interests are at all _polite_," Cree grumbled, folding his arms grouchily.

Again, there was an example of the man's feelings for Amarinthe. Yet it also seemed that she viewed him as slightly overbearing. Hmm...

"Are the both of you... _involved, _then?" Teatime inquired.

Rhett looked crushed.

"Good heavens, no!" Mara laughed. Rhett brightened hopefully. "He's my big brother. Aren't you, Cree?"

He grumbled incomprehensibly.

"I'm Creevan von Iden. I'm a blacksmith. I was killed by an Assassin just after he killed my sister because of some old feud one of our vampiric ancestors had with another vampire that's still around somewhere in Uberwald. I like quiet. And people who _keep their distance_ from my sister."

"I'm from Ankh Morpork, my name is Esther," the little old lady said. "I'm a retired judge." Everyone glanced around at everyone else. No one seemed surprised to learn that _that _was her previous occupation. "I died of old age, and I like quilting."

Teatime at last finished sawing Nate free.

"Took you long enough!" he said, stepping out. The grass caged him again and he roared.

"Why does this bloody keep happening to me?!" Nate called angrily.

"Perhaps you should attempt to remember your manners, Nathaniel," Teatime said. "It _has _always been you to be caged. Perhaps this midnight garden demands pleasantries and etiquette."

"Cree hasn't been all sugar and spice, either," Rhett pointed out.

"Ah, but he is _much _kinder than Nate, here," the Assassin countered.

"True," the sailor shrugged.

Nate grumbled.

"Perhaps if you were to introduce yourself?" Teatime asked.

Nate grumbled again.

"_Fine_. I'm Nathaniel Burghog. I'm a miner. I was sailing with my team to a new mine when I and that other guy fell overboard and drowned. I like quiet, like Cree does."

Cree wrinkled his nose, much similar to his sister.

"We have something in _common?_" he called in disgust.

"_Cree_," Amarinthe chastised.

Teatime shook his head and laughed softly.

"Now that we're better acquainted," the Assassin started, "perhaps we should deduce our goals. What is it exactly we want? How do we intend to continue our existence, if this _is _the afterlife?"

"Quite frankly," Mara sighed, "I feel rather cheated. I was hoping for pearly gates and endless paradise. Now all I've got is this dim garden..." she shook her head against the tree's trunk before grabbing her brother's leg (he was standing directly beside her) affectionately and smiling sweetly up at him. "Least I've got you, Cree dear."

Cree raised a brow.

Teatime scratched at the bark of the trunk. He was starting to get _bored_. All this observing, no action, no mental drama, no stabbing people... Perhaps he should skip ahead and send someone into Primordial Shock. What would Cree think if he killed Mara?

"Any more bright ideas, Teatime?" Nate called grouchily. "Don't look like this grass is quite ready to let me go!"

"Why yes," the Assassin answered, watching little flecks of pale, silver wood fall listlessly to the ground. "Perhaps you should try hopping on foot and closing one eye? Maybe _then _it'll let you go."

"_You're _the one with eye problems!" he countered.

Teatime grinned, looking up and meeting Nate's two eyes with his one.

"Most certainly. How observant of you."

"What _did _happen to your eye, Teatime?" Mara wondered. "If you don't mind me asking."

The Assassin frowned. No one had ever been comfortable enough around him to ask about his eyes. Er, eye. Perhaps this was something he should change. This Amarinthe seemed so very... dare he say _at home?... _around him, and he wasn't quite sure that he liked that. There was something about fear that he relished. It almost unnerved him(5), how comfortable she was.

But he could ponder that later. He had to answer a question now, and it was oh so _impolite _to leave a person waiting for an answer. If there was one thing he _wasn't, _it was impolite.

"An accident," Teatime replied with a cheerful smile. "A very, very troublesome accident. There was a lot of blood."

Cree shifted uncomfortably, and couldn't help but wonder why this obviously friendly man made his skin _crawl._ His sister was oblivious, and that made him think that there must be something wrong with himself, rather than the other. That didn't keep him from shivering, though, and Mara _did _have a habit of seeing people in a good light.

Teatime noticed the other's unease, but said nothing as he passed his rose through the tight-knit grass to Nate.

"Perhaps if you cut yourself out it'll stop."

"_Perhaps_."

"Mara, lass, what happened to that pretty cheek of yours?" Rhett asked, reaching up to the bloody gash across it. Teatime listened intently as he began carving idly into the silvery bark.

"I was attacked by monstrous roses," she answered with a grin.

"Killers, aren't they?"

Mara laughed.

"Oh, I'll have to agree."

Teatime watched out of the corner of his eye, intrigued. Here was what the other boys in the Assassin's Guild would have called 'flirting'. Their changes in posture, the brightness of Mara's cheeks, all showed that the sailor was attempting to woo her. Time to see how well he could predict what the others' actions with what he'd learned so far.

_Three..._

_Two..._

"Five foot radius, Ordan!" Cree reminded in a warning tone, stepping between the two of them and glaring profusely at the male party.

_One, _Teatime finished with a satisfied smirk.

"We're only making pleasant converse, von Iden!" Rhett called defensively. "Lighten up!"

"Listen to me very, very, carefully," he growled.

All eyes were on the two men. Well, almost all eyes.

"Fancy the sailor, do you?" Teatime asked softly.

Mara whirled around in surprise, and attempted to smile off the scowl present on her face.

"I don't know," she answered. "_Cree _won't let me find out."

The bitterness in her voice was apparent. Hmm, so there was trouble in their seemingly tight-knit closeness. Hadn't they been arguing, earlier? Something about her staying when she should have left. Interesting.

"Ah. You feel... _restricted? _As if you have to watch over your back to be most certain you're doing it right, and not quite knowing what 'right' is?"

"It's freer than being trapped a net of grass, but..." she trailed off, smiling, "...yes, that's just it. Have you ever felt that way?"

Teatime frowned thoughtfully for a few seconds, then brightened with a charming smile.

"Oh, yes. Back in my old occupation, before I died, they were quite demanding when it came to how I went about my work," the Assassin replied. "I never knew exactly what they _wanted _out of me, or why what I did wasn't right. They tried to explain, but I never understood."

Ah, he had her. There, the glint in her eyes of hope of companionship in some way, shape or form. _Here _it was, a way to start some kind of game and get into her head. What was his goal? Perhaps to spawn some kind of disagreement between the siblings. That might be intriguing. But he couldn't be caught; no, that would ruin it. He would have to move her hand without his being seen.

"Did you ever work it out?" she asked curiously, concern showing in her friendly voice and freckly face as she leaned forwards.

"Oh, yes, I did," Teatime answered with a bright smile and emphatic nod. "I _died, _and therefore the cord is severed. I'm free to do as I please, now."

Amarinthe sighed sadly, turning to look at her brother and the sailor's heated argument.

"Well, no cord to be severed here."

"You're stuck?" he asked curiously.

"I wouldn't use that word. He really means well. I just wish he'd... he'd..." she trailed off and chewed her lip.

What had she wanted to say? If only he could get in her head and find out. He so _hated _it when others couldn't put their thoughts to words. It left his near insatiable curiosity wailing in pain and misery.

"...Trust you?" he tried hopefully.

"Yes!" Mara called excitedly. "Exactly the word! Perhaps I should explain that to him."

Oh no! If the two of them had a long, meaningful discussion and worked out their differences there'd be no _fun_. That wouldn't _do_.

"Or perhaps you should show him that you're trust worthy," Teatime suggested.

"What do you mean by that?" Mara asked, her face growing curious.

"It seems he simply fears that you would either be taken advantage of, or chose someone less than favorable. Perhaps you should show him his fears are unfounded. Actions do speak so very much louder than words."

"And how would I go about doing that?" she laughed. "It's not like I've got many choices. There's the girl-hungry sailor, but Cree's already shown great disapproval for him. There's..." she wrinkled her nose, "..._Nate, _and though I'm sure he can't be _all _bad – "

"You'd be surprise, Amarinthe," Teatime put in, "just how bad some people can be even to their very core."

She laughed.

"Well, regardless, _not him_. And you – "

Teatime blinked in shock.

"Excuse me?" he said. "I'm not sure if I've heard you correctly.

Mara's cheeks brightened and she coughed nervously. Her entire posture changed, and the Assassin wasn't exactly sure _why_.

"Um... er... _you_. My brother doesn't seem to like you so much either."

"Oh, doesn't he? I'm not so good with people..." the Assassin sighed sadly. "I just don't seem to have the... _knack_." He shook his head regretfully, gazing off into the great beyond.

"You're not so bad," she said with a warm smile. "I rather like you."

"But what has any of that to do with our previous conversation, Mara?" the Assassin asked, looking up and meeting her eyes.

She blinked, flushed, and coughed again.

"It's that... um..." Mara tried. "Er, I was saying that you and I in a romantic relationship for the lone purpose of proving to my brother that I am capable of doing so wouldn't work because – "

Teatime blinked. He must be mishearing this, misunderstanding something. It didn't click.

"I'm sorry. I don't understand," he replied.

The problem was, you see, that the Assassin simply couldn't comprehend romance and himself connected in any way, shape, or form. It just didn't fit. He acknowledged its existence, but that he would ever have anything to do with it was not revolting, intriguing, or even merely neutral in his mind – it was unthought of; impossible to the extent that he had never even considered it. It was unfathomable to his brilliantly broken mind, in such a way that he simply couldn't grasp it without sufficient time to adjust to the notion.

"It doesn't matter. Forget I said anything. I'll just move on," she managed through her embarrassment.

Teatime shook his head.

"No, I'm afraid I can't let you do that, Amarinthe." For the first time, she was unsettled by him. The way he said those words, though be it still cheerful and friendly, gave the impression that he had said them before with a bloody outcome. She blinked it back, though, as he continued. "I have an insatiable curiosity."

"You and I. Liking each other in the romantic sense. Kissing, holding hands, et cetera," Mara tried, blinking slightly in her own confusion as she spit it all out as quickly as possible.

"You were suggesting that – ?"

"No!" she called, raising her hands frantically. "Not that it wouldn't be nice... or that I don't want it... or that I do... or anything at all, I was just saying, _hypothetically_, that I didn't have very many romantic options here, and why none of them would work to prove anything to my brother."

"Ah. I'm afraid I haven't spent much time thinking on romantic interludes, so the proper etiquette on such matters eludes me," he replied regretfully. "I find the whole thing a rather waste of time."

Mara smirked.

"Have you ever tried it?" she asked.

"As I said, I've seen it as a waste of time. Why bother?"

"It can be quite satisfying."

"Have you had much experience with it yourself?" Teatime asked curiously.

"No, not much. But I've had a few beaus in my time," she replied.

"Where are they now?"

"Um..."

"Exactly my point."

"One of them might still be with me if Cree wasn't always breathing down their necks!" Mara called, slightly defensively.

A small smirk slid across the Assassin's face.

"Ah, Cree again. You should deal with this, Mara."

She shook her head, and grabbed an apple.

"Perhaps you're right," Amarinthe sighed softly.

"Oh, shut it, won't you, boys? You're hurting me poor old head," Esther complained at the sailor and Cree, who were yelling their mouths off.

"Ya hear the lady?!" Nate called, stepping from the net he'd finally freed himself from. "SHUT IT!"

There was silence after that. Mara bit into her apple.

"Perhaps we should sleep," she suggested.

"Oh, _must we?_" Teatime sighed. "Isn't that the _good_ part of being dead? Not having to?"

"I'm tired," she replied with a shrug. "_You_ can stay up all night if you want."

"I might do just that," the Assassin answered with a crooked grin.

"I, for one, will be sleeping," Cree said, sitting on the pale grass and making himself comfortable.

"I'd rather not sleep at all with such pretty and pleasant company," the sailor said with a wink, "but I suppose – "

A leg swung (Cree's), a foot slipped (Rhett's), and a crabby sailor sat up rubbing a bruised hip while a protective older brother smirked with his arms under his head. Mara rolled her eyes and opened her mouth to chastise him, before thinking better of it.

"I was _talking _about _talking!_" Rhett called angrily. "I wasn't thinking of anything else, von Iden!"

"Sure you weren't," Cree said through a yawn.

"Definitely take care of him," Teatime whispered. "Somehow."

Mara nodded.

"I'll have to agree."

(1)Life, who happened to be watching, practically keeled over and would have died (if she hadn't been Life) laughing when she heard that statement.

(2)Teatime assumed that someone had stomped on it in frustration when it hadn't worked on the grass dome.

(3) -er than him.

(4)And it wasn't humanly possible to saw any more slowly.

(5)And that was saying something.


	5. Bloody White Cap

**Author's Notes: And here's the next bit. I'd only written one more (extra long) chapter out before my writer's block hit me, so be prepared! Suggestions are much welcome, and on my profile there's a pole I'd really like you to vote on. It's got the most absurd, out there, and silly ideas for how this story could end, and I'd like to see which y'all like the best. Not that any of them are ACTUALLY going to happen, but who knows? Maybe I'll be delirious and crazy when I write out the ending. Presuming, of course, that I ever get passed this darned writer's block!!!**

DURING DEATH

Teatime's Adventures in the After Life

Everyone was fast asleep; Esther, Rhett Ordan, Nathaniel Burghog, and Amarinthe and Cree von Iden. Lying listlessly in the darkness of his world, they were – sound in their realm of dreams. Teatime shook his head. He didn't believe he needed sleep, so he could put this extra time to use. He had done his observing; now it was time to start the game.

A dark grin spread across the Assassin's face as Teatime slid silently across the pale grass, and touched Mara's shoulder lightly.

"Maaaaaaarrraaaaaaaaaa..." he sang softly. "Maaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrraaaaaaaa..."

She mumbled, rolled over, opened her eyes and blinked.

"Teatime...?" she asked groggily. "I'm tired."

The Assassin grinned.

"I've found something. Come with me."

"Should I wake the..." Mara yawned as she sat up. "Should I wake the..."

"It's taken me so _very _long to get _you_ up, though," Teatime replied with a slight pout. It hadn't, but she didn't have to know that. "Please, we won't be long."

"Couldn't this wait until morning?" she asked sleepily as she followed the Assassin's excited stride.

"Of course it could," he replied matter-of-factly with a charming grin. "_I _couldn't."

Mara laughed.

"Teatime, you're without a doubt the most _unique_ individual I've ever met," she said through her smile before tilting her head thoughtfully. "Is Teatime your first or your last name, by the way? I've been wondering."

"Does it really matter?" the Assassin piped cheerfully. "I've just been that one name for so _very_ long, now."

Mara smiled mischievously.

"My curiously is insatiable."

"Oh, well, if _that's _the case," Teatime replied with a pleased grin, "it's my last." Before she could inquire further, the Assassin pointed over the hill. "There it is, Mara."

He zipped up to the crest more quickly than one could blink before turning back and grinning.

"Are you coming, Amarinthe von Iden?!" he called as the moonlight hit off his black eye. She smiled as she ran up after him and peered over the hill. There was a little cottage.

"I've made some cocoa," he said cheerfully. "The fixings were in the kitchen."

Mara shook her head and went down to the door before pulling it open. Inside was a kitchen/living/dining room, with a couch, an armchair, an island, a few counters, a stove, a small table with a few chairs by a window, and a bookshelf. The furniture was all crammed together, but somehow managed to fit. It still was all black, white, and blue – pale shades of darkness. But the sun had yet to rise, so perhaps that should be expected. There were a few mugs and dirty dishes on the counter.

"What's a cottage doing here?" Mara said thoughtfully. Now wasn't that _nice?_ She was actually _thinking_. "I mean, those are generally man made, and all, so why would it be here if we're..." she yawned, "...alone...?"

Teatime frowned.

"I thought the same thing," he replied. "But perhaps I shouldn't have wakened you. You are so _dreadfully _tired."

"_Dreadfully _indeed," Mara agreed. "I'll just... close my eyes for a bit on that couch and... you can tell the others..." she shook her head. "To hells with it, I'm sleeping here. Not on that hard ground and the paper cutting grass! Please tell Cree where I am, won't you? Or are you going to sleep here, too?"

"Oh, I'll tell him for you," Teatime blatantly lied with a charming, reassuring smile. "I most _definitely _will. No worries there. Sleep well, Mara. I'm so terribly sorry for waking you."

She smiled.

"No, it's fine. Feel free. I'll tell you if I'm too tired to be any fun. Like now."

"Oh, trust me, Mara. You're _plenty _of fun."

Perhaps not now, but, if all went as planned, her actions would result in _quite _the amount of 'fun'.

*

"Mara?!" Cree called in shock.

The others stirred from their sleeping state, looking around groggily. Well, all others save Teatime, who snapped awake in a flash(1), and Nate, who kept right on snoring.

"What is it, Mr. von Iden?" the Assassin asked.

"Mara's gone!" he called, obviously panicked.

"What, the pretty maid's _gone?_" Rhett looked crestfallen.

"Her _name,_" Cree growled as he ground his teeth, "is Amarinthe! You could do well to call her by it."

"If she _asks _me to, I _will, _von Iden, but otherwise she don't seem to mind much, does she now?" the sailor countered, voice dripping exasperation and agitation.

Cree stood to his feet angrily.

"To hell with this! I need to find my sister _right now_."

"Perhaps she went for a walk?" Teatime suggested. "I'm certain that she's perfectly all right, Mr. von Iden. It's not as if Rhett awoke in the middle of the night, professed his undying love, was rejected, and murdered her most brutally afterwards. We're already... _dead, _after all. As far as we know, anyhow."

Cree shot a nasty glare the sailor's way.

"Thanks for giving him ideas, Teatime," Rhett grumbled.

"What?" he asked innocently, glancing back and forth between them, then understanding appeared to dawn on his face. "Oh, I'm dreadfully sorry." He turned to Cree. "You _do _know I meant nothing by all that, don't you? You do understand that none of us could possibly wish your dear sister _any _hard whatsoever? Why would any of us lure her away from the rest mid night? We're not all lovelorn, lady deprived sailors." He blinked. "Oh dear, it was a figure of speech. Quite honestly, a figure of speech!"

Cree ground his teeth.

"Calm down, everyone!" Esther screeched commandingly.

"Shut _your _trap for a change!" the shaggy-haired man yelled angrily as he stood to his feet and started stalking off.

"RESPECT YOUR ELDERS!"

Nate rolled over and finally woke up.

"What happened?" he mumbled groggily.

"Nothing much," Teatime replied cheerfully. "Mara's vanished and Cree's blaming Rhett."

"Oh. Let me know when something important happens," Nathaniel replied before rolling over and trying to sleep again.

"You need to get up, young man!" Esther called. "It's high time, see that there sun!"

It was true; Teatime's lovely midnight garden was now golden red, blazing with fiery roses, orange-sheened bushes, glistening gold grass, burgundy bark, and the painted sky of sunrise. He should have known the others would be expecting such a change. Perhaps this version of his garden was lovely in its own way, but the Assassin much preferred the dark beauty he himself had created to this. With a sad sigh as he glanced around regretfully, Teatime started after Mara's brother.

"Why Cree, you look in such a terribly foul mood."

"I am," he answered plainly.

"Ah, and I assume I am doing nothing to make it better?"

"Yep, nothing."

"Then I apologize for my continued presence."

"Perhaps you could _dis_continue it about now?" Cree asked.

"No, I'm afraid not," Teatime answered.

"_Why?_"

"I wanted to talk with you about your sister, of course," he replied matter-of-factly.

Cree paused, turning abruptly the Assassin's way, and gave him his full, undivided attention.

"What about her?" he asked suspiciously with his eyes narrowed.

"Oh, just that she seemed rather peeved yesterday," Teatime answered lightly. "I'd give her a bit more space, if I were you, Mr. von Iden."

"Peeved? Peeved about _what?_"

"The way you treated that sailor. She seemed... oh, I don't know, almost angry. She said something along the lines of 'he won't let me do anything myself'. And then there was that moment last night when the two of them were talking – "

"What?!" Cree called.

Ah, perfectly done. Teatime grinned.

"They were just talking."

"I'm going to kill that scoundrel!" he cursed. "_After _I find Mara."

"What's all this about killing, young man!?" the little old lady called, standing up as straight as she could. She was over twenty feet away, but Cree _was _pretty loud.

"Just give me some space!" Amarinthe's brother called. "I just need some space..." he sighed, and started off once again. "That includes _you, _Assassin, so stop bloody following me."

"Oh. If you insist!" with that, Teatime turned around and started planning how he would send the sailor into Primordial Shock. Nothing like a little inhumation to stir things up. If it would _count _as an inhumation(2), that is.

"So Ordan, you're looking that way. I'm going this way. Nate, you go that way. Teatime, you go that way. And Esther..." Cree trailed off, catching a glimpse of the little old lady's fierce expression, "...er, Miss Esther, if you could please help me to search for my lost sister in that direction in particular, I would very, very much appreciate it."

"If you ask, laddie," she replied with a curt nod and started off. The sailor followed Cree's instructions as well, but Nate merely rolled over and grumbled something incomprehensible.

Teatime continued in the direction Cree had indicated. Under normal circumstances he would have done something quite different, but he had a plan of action here. Up the hill, over the crest... good, now turn, and follow Rhett's trail. A few seconds later and...

"Oh, dear, I have such a terrible sense of direction," Teatime sighed. "I'm afraid I've gone the wrong way."

"Easy enough to do 'ere, I suppose," Rhett replied with a friendly smile. "It's kind of eerie, and near impossible to tell exactly which way's which. It's as if it's not like this place is really real – it's like it's just tryin' to be, if you know what I mean."

"Yes, I think I understand," Teatime mused, hands in the pockets of his long coat. "It's so..." he grinned, "..._undiscly_. Then again, this is _not _the disc."

"I'm still not completely convinced that I'm dead, yet," Rhett answered, glancing around. "I mean, what if this is all just some great experiment and our every move is being watched by some scientist or another?"

"What an _interesting _hypothesis," the Assassin chirped cheerfully. "Certainly, I suppose that is a possibility, but I would greatly resent being someone _else's_ Guinea pig."

"Ah, but 'avin' one of your own is just lovely!" the sailor laughed jokingly.

"Exactly!" Teatime called excitedly, glad to see someone else who felt the same (he couldn't quite tell that the man was joking). "Well, I must thank you, Mr. Ordan, for a most pleasant conversation."

"You're going to be off, then?" Rhett asked.

"No. _You _are."

The 'r' sound hadn't been finished when the blade had slipped far into Rhett's torso. The sailor stared down at it in shock before looking up at him, his face filled with confusion.

"I don't... understand," he managed.

"Oh, don't worry, Rhett," Teatime answered cheerfully, taking out the blade as the other fell to his knees, his face contorted with restrained pain as his blood flowed freely. "It's just a _game__;_ nothing personal at all. _You're_ rather _pleasant_ company, in fact." The Assassin knelt before him and flashed a friendly grin. "I'll see you soon, then. But don't tell anyone, _please_, or we'll have to do this again the messy way. I can be _very _messy."

Rhett's brow furrowed in confusion and the slightest trace of fear as the Assassin took his sailor hat and the man's body dissolved into white mist. Teatime wiped off his bloody knife on the white cap and placed it on the golden grass, stained with the man's blood. It would be discovered soon enough. He stood and cheerfully started off to the cottage he'd created, stuffing his red hands into his pockets. It wasn't too far off, and actually in the direction Cree had told him to go so it wouldn't draw suspicion.

The Assassin pulled the door open and glanced around, immediately seeing the young girl's body sprawled listlessly on the couch. The house seemed more golden and cheerful in the yellow sunlight, and here he could tell that Amarinthe's hair was actually somewhere between strawberry blond and brown. He washed in hands in the sink, then leaned low beside her and whispered in her ear.

"Mara, the sun is up," Teatime said softly.

Her eyes shot open and she sat up stick straight. She looked around in confusion, then turned to him, her freckly forehead furrowed.

"Teatime?" she asked, her voice dripping befuddlement.

"I've made cocoa!" he called cheerfully. It didn't take much effort to believe the cups into existence as he said the words. "But really, Mara, you should have told us before you left."

Her brow wrinkled even more.

"No, you woke me up, and showed me – "

"I'm afraid I was fast asleep the whole night, Mara," he replied thoughtfully. "Are you… _sure?"_

Amarinthe cocked her head.

"Don't you remember? You told me Teatime was your _last _name on the way here."

"No, that was when we were discussing how your brother doesn't trust you earlier," he answered confidently.

"I was _really _tired..." she shook her head. "Are you sure? I distinctly remember you, on the hill, leading me here... How did you find me?"

"Rhett's missing, too. Cree thought you both ran off together and has us all looking."

Mara sighed in exasperation.

"You'd think he'd get it!" she called angrily. "I just want... I just..." she sighed, shook her head, then looked up with a sad small smile. "Did you say cocoa?"

"I made you a mug, too," Teatime put in with a charming smile.

"I think I could use that about now," Mara said wryly as she stood to her feet, walked to the counter, grabbed a mug, and took in a long, slow smell of the sweet, chocolaty substance as Teatime watched curiously from across the room on the couch. "Mmmm..." she sighed, her voice dripping with obvious pleasure. She nearly dropped the cup when she opened her eyes and saw the Assassin standing across from her, leaning casually on the counters and sipping his own drink. Instead, she merely clutched it more tightly as she really (_really_) didn't want to lose it.

"I'm terribly sorry. Did I... _frighten _you?" he asked curiously.

"A little, but it was more of a surprise. I'm not afraid of you, Teatime."

He cocked his head curiously. Had there ever been a person who _wasn't _at least a _little_ frightened of him? Perhaps he should remedy this; a few tricks with the knife should do it.

But that later. For now…

"We should probably be off, then. Cree is most definitely worried."

Mara rolled her eyes and made her way towards the door.

"Yes, probably," she sighed, then blinked when Teatime somehow made it there first and swung it open. "You did it again."

"Did what?" he asked innocently, leaning on the arm holding the knob.

"Shifted. Moved faster than the eye. Went somewhere else without warning."

"Like this?" he asked by her ear. She whirled around and grinned.

"Quit it!" Mara laughed.

"But it's such... _fun,_" he pouted, out the door and on the other side of her now.

Amarinthe shook her head and giggled as she started off into the dawn light.

"This place looks different by day," she observed, falling in step beside the Assassin.

"Indeed. I prefer it at night."

"It's pretty now, and it was then, but here it gives me a headache and then the chills. I hope there will be a happy medium sometime later."

"I _like _chills."

"Sometimes they can be fun," Amarinthe agreed with a simple nod before sipping her drink. "But not as a place to spend eternity in, if you ask me. And I guess that's what we're going to be doing. Who knew death would be like this?" She sighed, "Is _this_ what I deserve after my life?"

"Is this so terrible?"

_He _was having the time of his life(3).

"No. It's not particularly good, either," Mara explained. "I guess I was a pretty darn average girl."

And they came over the hill, the burning rosebushes and apple tree now in sight. There was only one person there, however, and that was Nate, leaning up against said tree and munching on a practically glowing apple happily. Mara smiled as she plucked one and sat beside him.

"Good to see you, Nathaniel," she said.

"Hmm," he grunted.

"Not changed a bit, have we?" Teatime sighed, sitting himself and sipping more of his cocoa.

Nate choked on his apple.

"It was so good before!" he called in shock. "It's all bitter all the sudden!"

"Odd," Mara said, her forehead furrowing.

No one noticed the smirk that slowly spread across the Assassin's face. The miner threw the apple into the distance in disgust and crossed his arms in agitation.

"Where were you off to, Miss Phobic?" Nate grumbled gruffly.

She raised a brow, then chewed on her lip thoughtfully.

"It's all rather hazy," she answered apologetically. "I guess I went for a walk, found this cottage, and fell asleep in it."

"And how'd you find her so quickly, Teatime?"

"Oh, it was just over the hill from here," he chimed cheerfully. "And it's teh-ah-tim-eh."

"Wait, back track a few seconds, will you?" Nate requested. "Did you say _cottage? _As in, one with a kitchen?" he sniffed. "Is that _cocoa _you're both drinking?!"

"Yes," both replied simultaneously.

Nate stood to his feet and grinned.

"Show me! Now!" he shook his head gleefully. "Kitchen raiding time!"

Amarinthe snorted with laughter as she stood to her feet, surprised to see Teatime already five feet towards the hill. She hadn't even noticed him stand.

"He's quick, isn't he?" she commented to the man grinning from ear-to-ear beside her.

"I guess so." He quickened his pace. "Wait up, Teatime!"

They reached the hill in no time, and Nate was just about to charge for the cottage when Mara noted something in the distance.

"Look, look over there! A white speck."

Nate followed her pointed finger and squinted.

"Huh," he said, then turned towards the cottage and started charging towards it.

"I'm going to go check that out," Mara said curiously.

"I'll make sure Nate doesn't tear the place apart, then wait up by the tree for everyone else," Teatime agreed with a bright smile and happy nod. "I'll see you soon, Mara."

She returned the gestures, and started off towards the white speck.

Teatime waited.

_Three..._

_Two..._

"!!!"

_One,_ he finished with a satisfied smirk.

(1)Of course, he hadn't really been asleep, but he was good at pretending to be. He'd never mastered appearing to wake up, though.

(2)After all, they _were _already dead.

(3)Er, _death. _Er, _being._


	6. Who Knows Who Dunnit?

**Author's Notes:**** Wow, I haven't updated this story in a while. I guess I've been trying to redo this chapter, but I've never gotten around to it, so I guess it'll have to work. Reading over _During Death_, I realize that it's much shorter than I'd thought it was. It sure felt quite a bit longer when I was writing it! I hope it's not too fast paced. **

**Anyhow, I now have an actual plotline and idea of where I'm going, so I can promise that some canon characters pop up in here, as well as a few very interesting OCs (think anthropomorphic personifications!). I think I'm going to dump all of these guys pretty soon, mostly because I'm now Mary-Sue paranoid and Teatime's going to be joining the land of the living shortly. But we're going to have tons of fun, I promise. And, as always, if you have any requests or suggestions, just PM or review me. I promise to take it seriously! (oh, and if you haven't voted on the pole up on my profile, please do. It's just for kicks)**

DURING DEATH

Teatime's Adventures in the Afterlife

CHAPTER SIX

Who Knows Whodunnit?

"L..." she stammered. "L..." she tried. "L..."

Mara couldn't finish the world 'look' and helplessly held up the bloody sailor's cap instead.

"Where did you find that?" Teatime asked, cocking his head.

"Ov..." she attempted. "Th..."

Mara couldn't quite manage to say 'over there', or even just 'there', so she pointed frantically off to the distance a bit.

"Was there a body?"

"N... n..." she made a frustrated face and then shook her head emphatically.

"Funny," Teatime mused. "Were there any signs of violence?"

"Y..." she gave up right away and nodded.

"A weapon?"

Mara shook her head.

"Blood, perhaps?"

She nodded.

"I see... perhaps the body was dragged? Was the blood leaving a trail of sorts?"

She shook her head.

"Hmm. This is quite a mystery, then."

Nate came out of the cottage with a broad grin, holding up a box of cookies triumphantly.

"I just _knew _that they'd be – HOLY &#^!" he called in shock.

"Yeah," Mara finally managed. "Holy &#^."

"That the sailor's?"

"Probably," Teatime piped cheerfully. Amarinthe cast him an odd glance.

"Huh. Is he dead?" Nate asked.

"We don't know yet," the Assassin explained regretfully.

"Want a cookie?"

"I've never much cared for chocolate chocolate chip biscuits; are there any plain ones?" he inquired curiously.

Amarinthe let out a long, low breath.

"Rhett could be dead. _Bloody dead. AND YOU'RE BLOODY BOTH BLOODY DISCUSSING BLOODY COOKIES BLOODY WHEN HIS BLOODY BLOOD IS COVERING THE BLOODY WELL BLOODY HAT?_" she called angrily. Her eyes searched wildly for something more to say. "_BLOODY!_"

"I did not realize that there was that much gore involved," Teatime said thoughtfully. "I am sorry you had to see such a thing."

He didn't really get it, but some people had troubles looking at mutilated corpses. It was a funny phenomenon. Wait... there _wasn't _a corpse. Perhaps she simply liked the way the bloody word bloody sounded.

"Do _you_ want a cookie?" Nate offered(1).

She pursed her lips and turned on her heel, heading towards the apple tree.

"I'm going back and waiting for Cree!" Mara called, not bothering to turn around.

"What's her trouble?" Nathaniel wondered.

"I'm not certain," Teatime shrugged. "But on second thought, I think I will have one."

"Here, help yourself."

"Why thank you."

The Assassin caught up to the girl with a few quick steps and reality bypassing, and started rapidly stepping backwards while facing her. She raised a brow.

"Don't walk off a cliff, you. I don't want to be finding more blood."

"Don't worry about me," he replied cheerfully. "I'm always _very _careful."

"_Right,_" Mara replied skeptically, glancing over exactly what he was doing.

"Exactly!" he chimed. Sarcasm just wasn't part of Teatime's radar, though he has been known to use it on rare (_rare_) occasion. He cocked his head curiously. "You look rather unsettled."

"I just found a bloody cap. I can't find a sailor. What'd you think I'd be?" she asked, sounding thoroughly distraught.

"Curious?"

"Are you _serious?_" she called in disbelief. "Seriously _serious?_"

"We're already dead, Mara," Teatime replied with a shrug. "I'm sure he'll pop up."

"I don't know _what _to think anymore," she replied, finally reaching the tree. Esther was in sight as she came up to the group, and she tilted her head oddly at the hat, her mouth a firm line.

"What happened here, young lady?" the old lady asked seriously.

"I found this over that way," Mara explained, pointing off towards the golden grass.

"Was there a body?" Esther asked.

Amarinthe made a face.

"I really don't want to have to go over this again... Teatime's already interrogated me."

The Assassin shook his head brightly.

"Oh, no, that wasn't interrogating," he chirped cheerfully with a friendly smile. "If I ever have to interrogate you, you'll know beyond doubt that that's what I'm doing."

Mara wasn't quite sure what to make of that. Yesterday she would have laughed, but she was beginning to think that he might actually be completely serious. Teatime seemed odder and odder the more she got to know him. At least he was polite.

"I'll keep that in mind," she managed.

_Will I, now? I'm not scared of _you,Tea_time, _the Assassin heard echo in his mind. That's what _Susan _would have said. This girl, however, was most definitely _not_ Susan. And she pronounced his name _correctly_. It was so very _nice _of her to do that; she really was the only human he knew to consistently say it. Never once had Mara called him 'teatime'. It was unspeakably refreshing. Susan _always _called him 'teatime'.

"Anyhow," Amarinthe continued, "no, there wasn't a body. There wasn't a weapon. Just some bloody grass and this."

"It is odd," Esther mused, "that it would be his _hat _to collect the blood. What kind of wound could cause that? A hit to the head, maybe? Not likely to be a stabbing in that location, since there isn't a rip in the fabric." She nodded in confirmation. "Yes, I'd think he was hit on the head, took off the hat to tend to the wound, and something else or another happened after that."

"Yeah, something else or another definitely did happen," Nate drawled sardonically (Teatime was the only one who'd noticed him coming) while he munched on his cookie. Suddenly, he remembered who he was talking to and paled. "…M'am," he added nervously. "Do you want a cookie?"

It was a lame fall back, but with the glare Esther was shooting at him he had to have _some _kind of peace offering. Unfortunately, the cookies were the only leverage he had.

"I'm not hungry," she replied sternly.

Nate gulped.

"Mara!" Cree called, hiking up towards her, his face and voice somewhere between relieved, happy, and infuriated. "Where on the disc were you?"

"I don't believe she was on the disc at all, Mr. von Iden," Teatime put in cheerfully.

Cree chose to ignore him, and the Assassin frowned. He didn't like being ignored.

"I went for a walk last night. There's a cottage not far off," she explained. Mara's brother turned very, very slowly Teatime's way, remembering how he had suggested just that had been the case when he'd freaked out about Mara's absence. He looked back to his sister and was just about to speak when he noticed the panic flow into her eyes as she began to continue. "And when I came back I found this, Cree – I found _this!_"

She held up Rhett's hat. Cree stared at it, dumbfounded.

"Um. Ordan – ?" he managed – _barely_.

"We don't know where he is," she answered when he couldn't continue. "He hasn't gotten back yet."

"Body – ?" Cree croaked.

"She didn't find one," Teatime put in cheerfully, having a hunch that Amarinthe wouldn't want to explain it again. "There was blood on the grass and on the hat, but nowhere else. There wasn't a weapon on the scene, either."

Mara shot him a grateful glance.

"What..." her brother stammered. "What-what could have happened?"

"Well, out of _all _of us," Nate drawled back, "_you're _the only one who threatened him."

A second or two later the miner's eyes flicked to Teatime, and the Assassin guessed he was remembering when he had sent him into Primordial Shock. Teatime grinned at him reassuringly, but in such a reassuring way as to say 'Oh, don't worry. I won't gut you ever so slowly because _you're not going to say anything about what happened that first moment._ So be reassured!'. Nate gulped.

For the first time, Amarinthe looked angry. Teatime had seen her agitated, exasperated, dismal, panicked, grief stricken, pleased, excited, and amused, but he had never seen her angry. She didn't look like Susan when Susan was angry, of that he was certain. As she whirled around on Nate, glaring at him, it wasn't such a glare that made you feel as if you'd be better off burning in hell (which probably wasn't too far away, considering _where _they all were) like Death's Granddaughter's fiery stare most definitely would. No, Amarinthe angry made the recipient of her dark emotion feel as if they were the lowest, most pitiful, disgusting worm ever to crawl in the dirt. It made you feel like you were a _terrible _person, someone who should disappear and never be born at all.

"How dare you!" she whispered, stalking up to him. She was petite and tiny against the burly man, but she looked up at him with no fear. "How dare you even think to insinuate that my brother would ever, _ever _do anything like that? _How dare you?_"

"Um..." Nathaniel was beginning to realize his mistake.

"He is one of the bravest, sweetest men ever to grace the disc. He had worked hard, and long, and he takes care of me. He is _my brother _and he is no murderer!"

Nate thought better of offering her a cookie.

Then she deflated, realizing everything she had said and stepping back slowly, losing her confidence and staring straight at the golden grass as she backed away. She looked up, and when she spoke it wasn't angry anymore, but it was determined as she shook her head slowly.

"I'm not taking it back."

"I'm afraid, deary," Esther replied, "that we can't check anyone off the suspect list just yet. Even I could have killed him. No one was with anyone at the time; Nate was supposedly sleeping, you were in that cottage, and everyone else was looking for you."

Mara took her brother's hand tightly without turning from the former judge. Cree seemed to be having a hard time looking at anything or anyone other than his shoes, a permanently shocked expression plastered to his face. Teatime remembered how he had noted that her brother needed time to adjust to surprising facts; he supposed that now was one of those times.

"We don't even know that he's dead. He could be fine. Maybe he cut his hand, bled a bunch, took off his hat and put it on the grass for unknown reasons. Maybe it was windy when he cut his hand. He could have been trying to keep his hat on, and the blood got on it then, and he couldn't keep it on, or..." Mara trailed off, glanced down, then looked back up. "Even if he _was _attacked, and we knew who did it, what would we go about doing? Chain them up in a cage of grass?"

"That's not a half bad idea..." Nate mused thoughtfully. Mara shot him a weak glare.

"The point I'm trying make is that there's nothing we could do if we knew who it was besides... er, 'exiling' them, and even then how would we do that?" she called.

Esther raised a brow.

"I am very emphatic when it comes to the administration of justice_. _I still believe that this matter should be looked into."

"By who?" Mara cried desperately. "We're all biased! We're all suspects!"

"That's why it can't be a lone job," Esther replied, "it'd have to be two. Oh, and we should never allow ourselves to be alone anymore. If we intend to go off with someone else for some unknown reason, let everyone else know where and with whom. We don't want to experience Rhett's fate ourselves." The old lady shook her head and sighed, smiling a tiny, sad smile. "I remember a day, long ago, when I was young, sharp, and strong on the case. I'd been a darn pretty thing, too. No aching back, just a quick wit and strong stride. No useless cane, either..." she closed her eyes thoughtfully, her smile growing the tiniest bit. "I was bold, and brave, and unafraid."

_You aren't now?_ pretty much everyone there thought dryly.

"...I wasn't this weak old thing I am now."

Everyone (save Teatime) trembled to think of a younger, tougher Esther.

"...I'd had long, curly locks..."

And then it happened. A breeze blew by softly, the wind knocked about Ester's stray, white hair. She hadn't changed. She was, and somehow always had been, something _else_. She had a long, straight nose. She had plump, well defined, and blood red lips. Her skin was tan, her hair jet black and all curled up in the bun atop her head. She had one hell of a figure, and gone was her polka-dot dress. No, she wore a burgundy button up vest and long, canvas-like pants of the same shade. She pulled out a few pins so her hair was in a curling, ponytail mess and smiled as she stood up straight and glanced around.

"Ah, that's _much _better!" Esther said, stretching out. Her voice was strong and lively, full of both knowledge _and_ youth. "No more aching back! Where was I before I went on my little escapade down memory lane?"

Nate's eyes were popping out of his head.

"I can't believe what happened to Rhett," Cree said slowly, having finally adjusted to that. He looked up and his face contorted in surprise. "Who are you?"

"You know darn well who I am, sonny!" Esther called harshly, hands on hips.

He blinked, and immediately went back into shock.

Amarinthe raised a brow.

"My my, what a young face you have," she said wryly with her arms crossed.

"How any girl could _possibly _mistake a wolf for her grandmother I'll never know," Teatime sighed, shaking his head. "Only a children's tale, I suppose!"

"Right!" Esther called. "Right. I'll be one of the investigators, since I was a judge previously."

Teatime grinned brilliantly.

"I was an Assassin, and have much experience with this sort of thing. I'd be most... _glad _to help you investigate, Esther."

She clapped in satisfaction.

"Good. Nate, Mara, Cree?"

The others looked up at her curiously.

"Um... you can sit and watch."

"There are so few of us," Mara pointed out. "Assigning 'investigators' doesn't even make sense. We might as well do it together. Who out of us has a motive beyond just randomly killing for the fun of it(2)?"

Teatime was barely able to hold back a gleeful laugh. Nate opened his mouth to say 'Cree', then immediately shut it. Amarinthe wasn't necessarily _scary _when she was angry, but she made one feel pretty awful about themselves and, being rather egotistical himself, he didn't want to have to deal with the blow to his bloated self-portrait.

Cree grumbled under his breath.

"Me. He liked my sister and we fought."

Mara squeezed his hand.

"Then there's Nate," Teatime chimed cheerfully. "You've all heard some of the arguments _they _got into. Then again, Mr. Burghog doesn't get along with many of us, does he?"

"I suppose I might have a motive," Mara sighed, "if I felt he was harassing me. But I didn't. I rather liked the attention... it made me feel special."

Teatime's brow furrowed slightly. He'd always felt that he himself was very special (let's face it; there isn't a more skilled Assassin alive. Er, or dead, either), and though he knew that most people _weren't_, he'd always thought that everyone else thought they were, too. For example, the most definitely average Nathaniel obviously thought himself rather grand. But what Mara said seemed to indicate that she thought herself... average, maybe? Perhaps he had been wrong to assume that others thought themselves special. Perhaps _that _was why they searched for romantic companionship; to make themselves feel as if they were something better than they thought they were(3).

"It wasn't _you_ he was interested in, Mara," Cree said, his voice tinged with exasperation. "You're the only girl _here, _and he's a _sailor _goodness' sake! You could have been a cockeyed prima donna and you would have been the love of his life." He glanced at Esther. "Er, the only _girl _here. We've got another full grown, wise and witty _lady, _too," he added, hoping to make peace with that comment. The little old... er, now-extremely-hot-yet-still-over-ninety-years-old woman chuckled.

Mara chewed her lip softly, glancing downwards.

"You know, I _was _feeling very good about myself, Cree," she said softly.

"It doesn't look like myself or this other fellow here has a _motive, _but we can't be ruled out just yet," Esther said. "You never really know."

About now Teatime decided to stop paying attention. Things were getting rather boring. He'd expected events to pick up pace after a disappearance, not _slow down_. And there wouldn't be much time before that sailor came back and told everyone _who _had killed him. Then it'd just be a game of cat and mice. He'd probably make his garden a maze, then. It'd be _exciting! _But until then, he should probably find a way to work with what he had while he had it.

What could he _do, _though? It's not like he could make someone confess to a crime they hadn't committed.

Oh, yes he could!

The Assassin grinned, shifting from one foot to the other in excitement.

(1)He had, mistakenly, drawn the conclusion that the reason she was so upset was that he had offered one to Teatime and not her. Looking back, that was rather unkind and unfair of him to do. Not that he was normally kind _or _fair, but when there was yummy food involved, Nate could be almost pleasant, and forget any previously held grudges (thus his nonchalance around a man who had _stabbed him_).

(2)How was she supposed to know that that's exactly what happened? Only psychopaths do that, and Mara didn't quite realize that she was in company of one.

(3)Once again, he had come up with a reason for why romance was oh so pointless. You don't need a lover to feel good about yourself; no, you just have to be really, really good at inhuming people most brutally.


End file.
